


sorry never made it feel alright

by amorias



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Heartbreak, I don't know what to tag this, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sad, whatever this is sad sorry about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2806574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorias/pseuds/amorias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanai and Tajima had to learn the hard way that high school relationships aren't all made to last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sorry never made it feel alright

**Author's Note:**

> look. i am really rusty bc nanowrimo burned me the hell out, so try not to judge me too hard, also this is sad, so i apologize, except not really bc being a writer means liking bringing people pain sorry about it. i thought of this fic because i was tweeting about how most hs relationships don't last but we act like our ships are gonna be together forever and... well. yep. here we are. title from "lay me down" by imagine dragons

“So what's up with the fact that you didn't come to our party during break?”

Hanai looks over the edge of the textbook he's reading and raises his eyebrows up at Suyama, who is sitting across from him and seems very nonchalant, casual reading in one hand and a disposable coffee cup in the other.

“I don't know, what is up with it?” he says with a shrug, turning back to his book and highlighting an entire paragraph before giving up and slamming the book shut. “You know what's messed up? Having two midterms and an essay due in week 2.”

“Are you changing the subject because you know that Yuuichirou told us what happened between you two and you don't want to talk about it?” He pauses. “What actually happened.”

Great. This is definitely just what Hanai needs. He huffs out a breath, frustrated by more than one thing. They broke up a year ago and the little brat is still ruining his life – though, maybe that's his own fault, for not being able to let things go. Not like this is something that is particularly easy to let go, but-- it doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter.

“Look, Shouji, I'm sorry, but can you not psychoanalyze me right now?”

“I'm not,” Suyama says with a shrug. “You'd have to pay me for that.”

“I have a paper to write. I'm leaving.” He stands up and gathers his things together, shoving his textbooks into his book bag and tucking his laptop under his arm.

“Why are you running away from this?” The other boy asks, looking at him very seriously. “You know that it didn't change our opinion of you, right? Is that what you're afraid of?”

Hanai hesitates, faltering as he kicks in his chair, but he firmly shakes his head and walks off.

“Well, if you, unlike me, have the time to figure that one out, be my guest!” he calls back, stepping into the elevator and jamming the 1 button with finality.

 

Tajima and Hanai admitted that they liked each other the Spring break before their second year, or rather, the third baseman forced it out of him when he called him behind the clubhouse and kissed him until he was lightheaded and Momokan had to send someone to go look for them. It wasn't a mutual confession, at first, but Hanai knew all the way back to the summer tournament that by the way his heart felt like it was going to explode and the way his knees went weak whenever Tajima was around that he liked him (not like he admitted back then).

It took over two years and them leaving for only a semester away at college for it to fall apart on him.

“You cheated on me,” Hanai repeated slowly, quietly. He lowered himself onto his bed, fingers clutching at the edge of his mattress, trying to swallow back the bile he felt rising in his throat. He felt sick to his stomach and he was dizzy, but not in the good way, not in the way that Tajima is supposed to make him feel. Why did it seem like his life was ending?

“But, I-- I told you, though! Doesn't that count for anything?”

“Honestly, Yuuichirou? No. It doesn't.”

He couldn't tell if he was more angry or hurt. Or jealous, or sad. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, trying to figure out how this could even happen, and brought in a choked breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“Look, I was drunk, okay? I thought I could take more and...”

“Take more, huh?” he hissed, lifting his head, eyebrows creased together and gaze narrowed in only what he can describe as disgust, hurt, hatred. Spite. Jealousy. He was never good at figuring out his feelings.

“Y'know that's not what I meant, Azusa, c'mon.”

Oh, so now _Tajima_ was the rational one, making Hanai look petty. Whatever. He thought that he deserved to be a little petty, considering the fact that he basically just ripped out his heart and was holding it over his head right now.

Tajima huffed out a breath and continued talking.

“I was drunk and I was lonely and...” He gestured kind of uselessly in the air, giving a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders. “I guess things just got out of hand.”

“Obviously.”

The silence that passed between them was tense, and the right fielder felt suffocated, like the world was collapsing on him, and he got up, pacing around, trying to come up with something to say.

“You know what? Sleep with whoever you want, Yuu.” Hanai turned around, facing the window and hoping the redness of his eyes isn't reflected back in the glass. “I'm breaking up with you.”

He hated Tajima, in that moment.

“Wait, Azusa. Can we talk, or something?”

“Or something?” Hanai whipped around, curling his hands into fists. “Or _something_?” His voice broke, and he hated himself, too. “What, want to fuck before you leave? Need one more quick fix, someone to jerk you off?” He saw Tajima's face screwing up in pain, but he also saw how his eyes wouldn't meet his. “You are so careless, and selfish, and spoiled.” He spat out the list of characteristics that he knew were not true, but nothing could stop him from saying it. He swallowed back anything else he could say for the sake of not wanting to do anymore damage than had already been done – though, he guessed, the worst damage of all was done when Tajima cheated on him in the first place. He crossed his arms back over his chest and turned back around.

“You were always good with words, Azusa.” He could hear Tajima sniffling behind him, and he could imagine him wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. “Good at hurting with them, too.” He heard bare feet padding across the floor, wooden floorboards creaking, and he thought that maybe he was actually going to leave until his arms were wrapped around Hanai's torso. “I'm sorry, Azusa. Please--”

“Get off of me,” he said, his voice cold, his body unmoving. “And get out.”

He really hated Tajima, here.

 

It's the middle of finals week, and the last person Hanai wants to hear from is Tajima.

They're both second years at universities now – different ones, thank God, because the idea of them both going to the same school to stay together was bounced around a lot before they left for college, and the possibility of it just makes Hanai sick to his stomach. Then again, it's possible a lot of this could all have been avoided if they had gone to the same school – no. It doesn't matter, he reminds himself.

He has to remind himself of that a lot.

“What do you want, Tajima?” He asks immediately upon picking up, incapable to quell the stress and spite in his voice. “I'm kind of busy right now.”

“I just... wanted to talk or whatever!” He can practically hear the nonchalant shrug in his voice. “Y'know, you didn't come to the last party Yuuto had, so it's been like, what, forever since I've seen you? Since any of them have seen you, 'cept Shouji I guess, since you guys go to the same school and all--”

“Tajima,” Hanai interrupts, frustrated by his babbling. It would've probably seemed cute when they were dating, when he was in love, but now every word he says pulls more on his heart and grates at his ears. “Why are you calling.”

“Why are you still acting like this?” He responds quietly. They're both quiet, while Hanai says nothing and neither does Tajima. “You said you'd always love me, didn't you?” He asks, finally.

“That was high school,” Hanai says, trying and failing to bite back the bitterness in his voice. He turns around, wishing he could physically turn his back on this conversation. “Grow up, already.”

There's a long pause, and he can hear Tajima shifting in his bed.

“I hate you,” the freckled boy whispers finally, his voice cracking in five different places.

Hanai chooses to believe it's because of the phone, and he closes his eyes.

“You're the one who cheated on me, remember?” he says in a voice that he doesn't recognize as his own. Detached, and sad, and jealous – things he hadn't felt for so long, since his first year of high school before he and Tajima got together and were in love. “I should be saying that to you.”

“I was stupid! I'm sorry!” Tajima snaps. “That was a year ago, can't you just forgive me?” When Hanai doesn't answer right away, he continues on. “You know that if it were you, I would've forgiven you by now.”

“But it wasn't me.” His voice is cold. “It was you. Forget forgiving you, that doesn't matter. I can't even trust you. I'm hanging up, Tajima.”

He closes his phone and tosses it across the room, burying his face in his arms, letting the phone ring twice more against the floor before the caller evidently gives up and leaves him be.

He can't stand Tajima.

 

I love you.

They said it often, maybe too much, honestly – when they got off the phone, when they were having sex, when one of them (Hanai) needed a little assurance about whatever he was worrying about that week, for a hundred other reasons.

It was hard for Hanai to say it at first. He felt stupid, and self-conscious, and he didn't want people to know or to hear them, because he didn't want them to judge him. He didn't want to lose his authority as the baseball captain.

“I love you,” Tajima gasped between kisses to the hollow of his throat, to his freckled collarbones and prominent hipbones. His fingers grabbed at the sheets and pulled, teeth gritted but lips just open enough to whimper the words through panted breaths.

I love you, Hanai thought, pupils totally blown out until his eyes were practically black, words stuck in his throat and in between his ribs, their bodies shifting between his sheets until they were both out of breath and weak at the knees, the warmth that had been pooling in their stomachs finally released.

The third baseman curled himself up next to him, wrapping his arms around his torso and burying his face into his neck, planting small, feathery kisses as his breath stabilized, as the flush melted from his cheeks.

“I love you, Azusa,” he breathed, his whispering tickling Hanai's neck and making his skin prick up. He pushed Tajima back, putting his hands to either side of his face, and the clean up hitter leaned his cheek into his touch. “What's with the serious face, captain?” He asked quietly, smiling until his nose crinkled up, eyes glittering and earnest, hand just resting over one of Hanai's.

“I love you too, Yuuichirou.” he said, solemnly, even though it made his hands shake, and made him feel sick and turned his face bright red. “I'll always love you,” he mumbled quickly, almost an afterthought before immediately leaning down and crashing their lips together, if only so Tajima wouldn't see how flushed his face was, and the way the freckled boy's laugh sounded against his teeth made him see stars.

He really thought he would love Tajima for the rest of his life. Maybe, in a way, he still does.

 

Hanai hitched a ride with Suyama back to Saitama after finals were over.

“You're coming this time, right?” He asked once Hanai got out of the car, giving him a pointed look. “I know it's... awkward. But everyone wants to see you.”

“I'll try,” is all he can say, words sticking to the back of throat and drying out his mouth. He will try, but sometimes the best efforts go to waste.

The first night he's back, he takes his bike and his glove and rides down to Nishiura, letting the night air give him some clarity and deliberately not looking at Tajima's house as he passes. He mostly walks around the grounds, crouching down and pulling up weeds along the edges, looks up at the navy blue sky circling with clouds, and wonders how the team is now. What they're like, and who the new captain is. It occurs to him that the only people he's ever played with still on the team were first years when he knew them, and it almost makes him a little nostalgic.

“Hey.”

Hanai turns around, and he sees Tajima – about the same height as when they broke up (which is taller than when they got together, but still a good 5 inches shorter than himself, which he definitely takes some kind of sick satisfaction in), wearing the same jeans he always did. Maybe he looks a little more muscular, though it's hard to tell through the soft-looking material of his long sleeved shirt. He blinks his gaze to the ground, and wonders why he even cares.

“Hey,” he says back, mostly in passing, starting to walk back to the gate, fingers curling around the leather of his mitt.

“Pitch for me?” Tajima calls out to him, not moving from his spot. The proposition, and the way his voice sounds, makes Hanai stop. His voice is more subdued, he notices. Less brash and more adult, softer around the edges, like the voice he always would use in bed, when telling Hanai he loved him.

“Sure.”

He sets himself up at the mound, fingering the stitches of the ball, eyes half-lidded and trying to place how he feels right now. Desperate, maybe, or cautious. Those two things are totally different, and he still can't figure them out. He looks over at the other boy, who is crouched with a catcher's mitt positioned at his stomach.

“Try not to hit me in the face, okay? I couldn't find my mask.”

“That seems rather risky, to ask me to do this without a mask, don't you think?”

“Maybe,” Tajima shrugs. “But I trust you.”

Hanai's eyebrows twitch downwards, just for a moment, and he clenches his jaw, nodding. He winds up, and throws a curveball that bounces into the dirt and Tajima is barely able to catch.

“Sorry,” he says, holding up his glove to receive the ball.

“Out of practice?” The freckled boy asks as he tosses the ball back to the mound, and Hanai thinks he can make out him smirking in the dusk light.

“Not all of us got scouted for baseball, you know,” the taller boy fires back, resting a hand on his hip and almost smiling. Almost.

“Still bitter?”

“Not about that.”

Tajima's mitt lowers slightly, but he catches himself, and pulls it back up and pounds his fist into it. He huffs out a breath as he positions himself again, and nods. He throws a fastball right to his glove, and he catches it, but he tips over from his crouch, landing on his back and coughing. Hanai walks over to him and holds out his hand.

“Not much of a catcher anymore, are you?” he asks, allowing himself to laugh, if only a little bit.

Tajima laughs too, grabbing his hand and pulling himself up.

“Nah, we've got real back-up catchers now.”

They toss back and forth for a little bit, making idle comments about nothing in particular, mostly baseball, finals, and if Hanai is going to go to Sakaeguchi's party this time. They avoid all other topics, especially all the things they used to do together, even if the memories keep surfacing without consent into Hanai's mind. Once it gets too dark to even see their hands in front of them – the field still hasn't gotten lights – they go and sit in the dugout, side-by-side but at least a foot apart, their gloves resting in the space between them.

“If... I hadn't cheated on you, d'you think we'd still be together?” Tajima asks hesitantly after a period of heavy silence. Hanai is surprised enough that he actually looks over to him and they lock eyes, and he finds himself unable to pull away.

“I guess we'll never know,” he says quietly, voice still harboring the hurt that he's tried so hard to punch down for two years, the betrayal he tried to hide whenever he's forced to be in contact with the other boy. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to let it go, which is the worst part – he wants to admit how upset and hurt and betrayed he felt, because he was cheated on and it made him feel so worthless and he never could have imagined that he would feel that way because of _Tajima_ of all people, but he just can't bring himself to do it. He still cares what everyone thinks of him – he didn't even tell his original teammates the real reason they broke up initially. “How could you do that to me?” He asks, surprising himself.

“I was drunk.”

“That's what you always say. You were drunk, you were stupid. But--” his voice catches in his throat once he thinks of what he's about to say, and he almost wants to stop himself. But he doesn't, because even now, he's never been very good at keeping things from Tajima. “But even if you were drunk, if you really loved me like you said you did, you wouldn't have done that.”

“I did love you.”

“No you didn't,” Hanai says back immediately, pulling his gaze away. He feels hollow, and his voice sounds the same. He looks at the creases of his palms, how the red dirt has settled into the lines of his hands and has made his hands a ruddy color. This dirt stained everything, their knees and their backs and their faces, and he can remember it all so clearly, all the times they spent together here, crying and laughing and breaking in on the weekends when he would spend the night at Tajima's house and they would kiss in the grass while looking out for shooting stars.

Coming here was a mistake.

“I don't hate you,” Tajima says suddenly, voice not much more than a whisper, but even at such a low volume, Hanai can tell that it's wavering.

“I know.”

Tajima looks over to him, everything dulled in the light of the moon. Even his freckles – the ones that Hanai would count like stars when he couldn't sleep, the ones that created constellations across his face, the ones that he saw entire universes in – seem muted, unimportant, and trivial. It doesn't matter that there's 23 of them across his nose and cheeks, and 500 more on his shoulders and collarbone and hipbones, and 4 on the top of his left foot.

He wonders if he counted them again, if it would be the same, and he forces his eyes away from the smaller boy's, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“Azusa. Do you forgive me?”

Hanai is quiet for a long time, wishing for things that don't matter anymore. Wishing he could hear Tajima's laugh again, and remember how it sprayed across the sky like stars, and how his entire being made him dizzy. He really wants to remember.

“No,” is what he finally comes up with, getting up and dusting the red dirt from his hands, picking up his glove. He hesitates for a moment before continuing. “You know, I really thought I would love you for the rest of my life.” He looks at the moon, and then blinks his gaze back to the creases in his old glove, as if he has more to say. Maybe I still do, he considers, before he decides it's probably best to say nothing at all, and he walks from the dugout, glove slung over his shoulder, and isn't surprised when Tajima makes no moves to follow him. When Hanai looks back, he's sitting in the same position as before, staring out at a point indeterminate to him.

There would be no stars, even if it weren't for the clouds.


End file.
